<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>the very blood of you blossoms into flowers by Iazarus_rising</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23864146">the very blood of you blossoms into flowers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iazarus_rising/pseuds/Iazarus_rising'>Iazarus_rising</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, One Shot, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, the mountain incident didn't happen, there's mentions of blood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:48:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,799</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23864146</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iazarus_rising/pseuds/Iazarus_rising</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaskier laid down in a field of poppies, the red of the flowers masking the blood dripping from his side. He was certain he'd die, right then and there, surrounded by flowers he didn't name himself after.</p><p>He didn't expect a certain witcher to come to his aid.</p><p>And he certainly didn't expect what followed.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>514</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the very blood of you blossoms into flowers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The red doublet Jaskier is wearing hides the blood well. He can feel the liquid dripping through his clawed palm pressed against the gnash at his side, struggling to keep whatever is left of him together. He blends into the sea of poppies he’s laying in, the flowers the colour of his clothes, the colour of the iron-reeking fluid seeping through his fingers and sinking into the ground.</p><p>His gaze is fixed on the spotless blue sky, a reflection of his own eyes, their blue slowly fading into a shade of grey. </p><p>The irony of dying in a field of poppies starts to get to him. His stage name is a flower, isn’t it? How fitting he is to leave this world surrounded by flowers. How poetic, he thinks.</p><p>His bloodied lips twist into a harrowing smile, the acrid smell of his own blood making him nauseous. </p><p>He thinks of all the songs he’s written, of all the banquets and kinds and ballads. He’s left a mark in this world, he thinks. He’ll be remembered. People will sing his name in sacred choirs, praising his musical talent and lyric prowess. He tries to convince himself he’s ready. He can leave.</p><p>A single tear rolls down his cheek. It leaves a wet mark across his still youthful skin only to drop from his skin and sink into the soil. He doesn’t try to hold the next tear down. He lets them flow, lets them water the soil under his body. </p><p>Who is he trying to fool? He’s not ready to go, not yet. There’s still so much of the world he hasn’t seen, so many adventures waiting to be written down, sung until his voice turns hoarse, until he can’t get a word out of his throat. He still hasn’t kissed the person he truly loves, he still hasn’t confessed and it almost makes him laugh again how it takes Lady Death to make him realise his mistakes. </p><p>His vision starts to swim. He stares at the sun, feels the rays on his face, the warm kisses of the star comforting him in this ungodly hour.</p><p>The last thing he sees is a flash of white and gold, a blur of motion. After that, everything turns black.</p><p>-</p><p>The first thing Jaskier feels upon regaining consciousness is the throbbing pain in his side, right where the gash should be. He can sense he’s lying on something soft and warm, a nice change of pace from the cold soil on the poppy field.</p><p>Is he alive?</p><p>He takes a deep breath and the pain gets oh so worse and yup-</p><p>He’s definitely alive, he thinks as he winces.</p><p>Jaskier then opens his eyes, slowly, carefully. Relieved someone found him and stitched him up, but apprehensive as to who exactly that might have been. His bet is on a local witch, maybe a medic, or a herbalist.</p><p>What he actually sees is definitely not what he was expecting.</p><p>He sees a familiar figure sat on a chair in the room, his shoulders slouched, his hair a mess. His black armour is worn-down, Jaskier can see the stitches on the shoulder plates, he can see the marks of wear and tear.</p><p>The golden eyes are fixed at him, and Jaskier feels something choke up in him upon realizing they are bloodshot, tired. Dimmed.</p><p>“I thought I’d lost you.” Geralt says, his voice brittle, on the verge of breaking.</p><p>“Huh. Yeah, I thought I lost me too.” Jaskier responds, his usually honey-sweet voice now sounding and feeling like sandpaper. “How did you find me?”</p><p>Geralt stops for a moment. A short, pensive silence fills the air.</p><p>“I don’t really know. I just felt like I needed to be there. Like something was pulling me to-”</p><p>“To me?” Jaskier finishes the sentence for him, hoping to hear a confirmation.</p><p>“I suppose so.” The witcher responds, his eyes still fixed on the bard, studying his face and the emotions reflected on it, changing like the colours in a kaleidoscope.</p><p>They both stay silent, the last words spoken still ringing in the air.</p><p>Seconds later there is sound again as Jaskier grunts in an attempt to pull himself up.<br/>
A sharp strike of pain stops him in his tracks. He hisses, deciding that maybe being in a horizontal position isn’t actually so bad.</p><p>Geralt sees his struggles and he’s up on his feet in no time. He walks over to the bed, crouching down beside the frame for the bard to see him more easily.</p><p>“You want to sit?”</p><p>“Yeah. Would be nice.” Jaskier answers through clenched teeth.</p><p>“Let me help.” The witcher offers, only to be declined.</p><p>“I can do it on my own.”</p><p>“No, you clearly can’t.” Geralt shoots back, ending the pointless discussion. He stands up, puts his right knee on the bed, exactly between Jaskier’s legs,  and bends over slightly. He slithers his right hand between the sheets and the small of Jaskier’s back. He feels a shiver running down the man’s back.</p><p>“Put your hands around my neck.” He instructs, his voice a whisper.</p><p>Jaskier, who up until that point was desperately trying not to look up, looks up. Geralt’s face is framed by a veil of white hair, his golden eyes honey-gentle.</p><p>“Wh-What?” Jaskier manages to squeeze the one word out of his suddenly tight throat.</p><p>“Just do it. I’ll pull you up.”</p><p>The bard does as is asked of him, fighting the blush he feels blossoming on his cheeks. He carefully places his hands at the nape of Geralt’s neck, the wound in his side protesting the movement just a bit.</p><p>Geralt moves his second arm under Jaskier’s back and stops.</p><p>“Ready?”</p><p>“Mhm.”</p><p>The witcher lifts the bard’s body with his hand and starts pulling his body close, bit by bit..He manages to get the man into a sitting position after what seemed like an eternity.. He’s ready to step back and move away, physical contact of this degree of intimacy not being on his list of comfortable situations, but then Geralt realizes Jaskier is trembling in his arms. The hold on his neck has gotten stronger, the bard clinging to him as if his life depended on it, silently weeping into Geralt’s shoulder, his arms now around Geralt’s abdomen.</p><p>The witcher’s first reaction is to run. He’s not good at comforting people, he’s not a man of many words, but then again, it’s Jaskier. So he fights that instinct and instead, he squeezes the man still in his arms. His hair smells of soil and blood. He smells like a freshly dug grave. An empty freshly dug grave.</p><p>“Jaskier, are you okay? Does anything hurt?” He asks, rubbing the bard’s back gently.</p><p>“I’m <i>alive</i>, Geralt. I couldn’t be better.” Comes the muffled response, the words slightly slurred by the tears and raw emotion.</p><p>Geralt just lets Jaskier stay there, in his embrace, and Jaskier is grateful for that. It was his tender touch that caused this sudden emotion overflow, because while Jaskier did realise he was alive earlier, it was a logical conclusion. He conducted an experiment, and upon feeling pain, the results for not kicking the calendar just yet came back positive. What made him realise he wasn’t dead, what made him feel, process the events on the emotional level was the touch of the person that was his nearly-last thought. The tenderness of the person he regretted not confessing to on his poppy almost-death bed.</p><p>It was time to mend these wrongs. He almost died, what could be worse that this?</p><p>Jaskier buries his face even further into Geralt’s neck. He can feel his heart beating against his ribs in anticipation to what he’s about to say, he knows Geralt can hear it too, but now, now that he’s set his mind to it, there is no turning back.</p><p>“I love you.” He mumbles through tears and into the leather armour. The second he utters these words regret starts washing in, maybe Geralt didn’t hear, he’s made such a <i>fool</i> out of himself, they’re just <i>friends</i>, what was he <i>think</i>-</p><p>“I love you too, buttercup.” Comes the hushed response, and for the first time in his life, Jaskier is rendered speechless.</p><p>He straightens up almost immediately, the movement a bit too fast, a spike of pain coursing through his side, but that’s not important right now. He looks Geralt in the eyes, uncertain of the sentence he’s just heard.</p><p>“What did you say?” He asks, his voice timid, hesitant.</p><p>“I said I loved you.” Geralt answers. He seems certain. But Jaskier knows better. He knows there’s vulnerability hidden under the facade of confidence.</p><p>“How long-?” He doesn’t get to finish his question.</p><p>“Since I’ve found you in the field. I guess the prospect of you being dead made me realise something.”</p><p>Jaskier makes a soft sound.</p><p>“Huh. I should be almost-dead more often, then.” He jokes, his spirits definitely higher now, even though his face is still damp from all the tears.</p><p>Geralt pulls a stern face, his eyebrows furrowing.</p><p>“Don’t you <i>dare</i>.” He says in a tone of voice that a military officer could be jealous of. Then, Geralt seems to be thinking something over for a while, his expression softening, his sharp edges blurring. “Jaskier.”, he finally hums, and the bard loves the way his name rolls off the witcher’s tongue.</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“Can I kiss you?”</p><p>The bard nods without a single word.</p><p>Geralt places his right palm on the nape of the bard’s neck and slowly pulls him closer, close enough for the air they breathe to be one and the same. The witcher hesitates, leaving them like this. But Jaskier has never been a patient person. He closes the gap between their lips, sighing into the sensation. Geralt pulls him even closer, cupping Jaskier’s face with his hands.</p><p>It’s like an epiphany for both of them, a revelation they’ve been starving for. </p><p>When they break away, both of them are smiling. Jaskier’s grin is more radiant, more out-there, while Geralt’s is subtle, caring.</p><p>“You know what?” Jaskier suddenly asks, his heart a bit calmer now.</p><p>“Hm?” Geralt grunts in response, curious of the remark to come.</p><p>“Poppies never were my favourite flowers anyway.” He says cheerfully.</p><p>Not long afterwards, Geralt helps him to lay down again, saying Jaskier needs to rest, that he needs to sleep. And Jaskier actually listens, just this once.</p><p>When he wakes up the next morning, the room smells nice. It smells of flowers and green spring fields, not of soil and blood. He opens up his eyes and looks to his left, where his bedside stand is. He sees a bouquet of flowers put into a glass jar filled with water standing there.</p><p>A bouquet of yellow buttercups.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this started out as an image in my head and then turned into a love confession fic as i tried not to make it sad.</p><p>anyway, hope you liked it, please leave a mark if you did!</p><p>my tumblr is julian-de-lettenhove</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>